


Endgame

by elijahfox



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijahfox/pseuds/elijahfox
Summary: Jughead Jones hasn't seen Betty Cooper since they were in high school. After he fails to succeed at publishing his novel, he returns to Riverdale and interviews for a job as a journalist. But there's a catch: Betty works there, too.





	1. The Herald

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I haven't posted on here in about four years so I might be a little rusty... I'm hopeful that this fic goes well and that I find the motivation and power to give it all the attention it deserves.

“Hey there, Juliet.” Those were the very first words that Jughead Jones spoke to the blonde bombshell that was Archie Andrew’s ex-girlfriend in a very long time. She dipped her head in his direction and gave him a sly smile. 

“Jughead Jones,” she smiled her classic Betty smile and inspected a sheet of paper in front of her before continuing, “- what’s up?” Long strands of her hair came loose from her messy ponytail and covered half of her face.

“I saw an ad for a writer. I thought maybe it might be worth my time to stop by and look into it. Unless it’d be weird for you, being that you are- or were-,” he struggled to find a way to say the words without making it awkward.

“Relax, Jug. Archie and I barely dated and I wouldn’t ever get in the way of your career aspirations just because you’re his best friend. We’re friends, too, right?”

The fact of the matter was that Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper had at one point been more than friends. This wasn’t entirely a positive, however, because at the time Betty Cooper was with someone. Up until then, Jughead had protected Betty like a little sister. They’d grown up together and he had always made sure to keep an eye on her. 

But when they reached their teenage years, Jughead’s protective behavior seemed to have a different tone to it.

About two years ago, Betty had dated Jughead’s best friend, Archie Andrews. Unfortunately, it didn’t end well- Archie confessed that he’d dated Betty only out of peer pressure from their friends and that although he loved her, he couldn’t love her in the way she did him. Afterwards, she tried to be okay with it, but she wasn’t. 

Her self-esteem spiraled down and she wondered what it was about her that drove him away. Was it that she didn’t have tan skin, curvy lines, and dark hair? Whatever it was, after Archie left her, she found herself in a quiet a few unhealthy relationships. That’s when Jughead came in. 

“Yeah, yeah of course. Do I get the grand tour or should I show myself around?” His eyes trailed a long painting that wrapped around the walls of the circular office. Betty had always wanted to be a journalist, he knew that. 

What Betty hadn’t wanted was to be a secretary. But everyone had to start somewhere. Betty believed that too, at first, until that somewhere lasted a year and a half and she had yet to hear of any kind of promotion opportunities. 

“Sure! So obviously this is my headquarters where I take calls for the boss and take care of whatever mundane chore- I mean assignment- that he gives me for the day. Usually I get calls from people wanting to put their ads in the newspaper or complaints about whatever controversial article has just been released.” She slid out of her desk and for a second, her hip brushed against Jughead’s.

“Okay, so if they’re looking for a writer, why don’t they pay attention to the one that’s already under their noses?,” Jughead motioned towards Betty’s notebook- she’d used the same one since sophomore year. Her palms were red and callused- a sign that she’d been spending a considerable amount of time jotting down her own ideas.

Betty gave Jughead a sheepish smile and shrugged. “It’s not really up to me… but thanks. What about you? I thought you were more into writing novels- not the latest in Riverdale’s sports community,” she sounded more disappointed in him than she meant to.

“I’m sorry, I just mean that you are made for so much more than this-” Betty gestured to the plain office structures surrounding her “-this place. You have real potential.” Her hands clasped around Jughead’s and she gave him a smile of confidence. 

“Thanks for your faith in my abilities, but it turns out that finding a publisher who’s willing to take a risk on a kid just barely out of high school named ‘Jughead’ who’s never had his work published before is harder than it seems. I’ve contacted dozens of people, but I rarely even get a call back.”

A sympathetic smile crossed Betty’s face and she let her hands fall from their place around Jughead’s. “I understand. Either way, the Herald is a pretty nice place to work. The boss isn’t too much of a hardass and they can be fairly lenient with sick days- but only if you’re good at what you do and can write from home on a deadline.”

“After Polly’s miscarriage, I stayed home for almost a week with her. Now say you’re a mediocre writer and you work on the ad placements- you’re disposable to them.” Jughead nodded along to signal that he was listening.

Truthfully he was listening, but he wasn’t too focused on the words coming out of Betty’s mouth. When she grabbed his hands, his mind immediately flashed back to the last time he’d held her hands. It was the last night she’d spent with him before they lost touch. His body wanted to lean in towards hers, to be closer to her, to feel the heat radiating off her as if she was the sun. He could use a little bit of warmth.

“Juggie- did you hear me?” Betty waved her arms in front of Jughead’s glazed-over eyes.

“Yes, yes. I mean, no. Sorry- what?,” he shook his arms in an attempt to draw himself out of his memories. 

“You’re going to need to complete an interview in there-” her index finger indicated a room with a dark blue door labelled ‘ELAINE HENDRICK, co-editor’ “-Elaine is the boss’ wife. She’s more of a human resources type of person, but the newspaper is their family owned business, so she gets a title, too. She’s really sweet and she’ll do everything she can to make you feel settled in. If you get the job. You’ve got about twenty minutes to kill while she finishes up a call. I’ve got to get back to work, but let me know if you need anything from me. I’ll let Elaine know that you’re here.”

Jughead took a seat on a bench opposite Betty’s desk and tried to plan out what he was going to say during his interview. His eyes had a different plan, though. Every once in awhile he’d look up to see Betty biting her lower lip in concentration and notice her absentmindedly clenching her fists. It was a habit she’d had since her freshman year of high school. They never really talked about it, but Jughead had spent his fair share of nights comforting her and kissing the scars she left on her palms back when they were in the limbo stages of an almost relationship.

A considerable amount of time passed before Jughead saw an older woman, probably in her late fifties, poke her head out of the blue door and smile at him. “Forsythe Jones? I’m Elaine. Please, come in.”


	2. Unraveling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter leaves a lot of unanswered questions, but I PROMISE that it's purposeful and you'll get your answers ;)

“Forsythe” was not a name that Jughead Jones had heard in years. Not even during his father’s drunken, angry rages had he been called that. It was on his official documents, but no one recognized him by it. 

 

Nevertheless, he looked up when he heard Elaine call it out and gave the woman a brief smile. Betty held her thumb up to say “good luck” as he entered her office. There was a trophy case behind her desk with an entire section designated to a small collection of mugs that all read “World’s Best ________”.

 

“I see here that you’re an aspiring author. What kind of writing do you do?,” Elaine bent her head down to get a closer look at Jughead’s resume. Her eyes flicked from the paper to him and then back down at it. 

 

Jughead cleared his throat. “I began my first novel during my sophomore year of high school. It centralized on the murder of one of my classmates and the speculation surrounding the events. I finalized it during the later portion of my senior year.” This wasn’t Jughead’s only writing, of course, but it was the only writing he really felt comfortable sharing with the world. His book was based on a real event, something that he had experienced and something that was made from facts and evidence. 

 

“And I see you’ve already met our wonderful Betty! We love having her. Did you two attend school together?,” she sifted through her desk in search of something and let out a little “ah-ha!” when she found it. 

 

“Uh, yeah, we worked on the high school newspaper together, The Blue and Gold.” Jughead twiddled his fingers together and toyed with a string that was coming loose from his beanie. He’d been wearing the same hat for the last five or so years and refused to give it up. It was his safety blanket. 

 

“Listen, Jughead, I would love to offer you a position… but I have heard your name come up more than a few times in the past, and not in a good sense. Your father is a convicted felon and you were charged with attempted arson, I just don’t know if-”

 

“When I was eleven! With all due respect, I’m a different than I was eight years ago. My father is a good man. He had a rough patch but he has turned his life around and so have I. I completely understand if you don’t want to hire me because you don’t think that my writing style is fit for your newspaper, but you can’t really give me a strike because of something that happened so long ago and things that are completely irrelevant to my abilities as an author. Please, give me a chance.” 

 

His eyes showed a vulnerability that he didn’t often allow to bubble to the surface, but he would get down on his knees if he had to. This wasn’t just a stop on the way down the street for him. He had planned this. This job opportunity was his last chance. No one else wanted to hire him and he’d already gotten an extension on his rent payment which was now due in two weeks with interest. 

 

Elaine removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She let out a sigh of contemplation but before she had a chance to either accept or deject his plea, Betty barged into her office. 

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency outside. There’s a woman here making wild accusations against Mr. Hendricks. She’s getting pretty violent- she mentioned something about a sham religious article? What would you like me to do?” Betty dug her fingernails into the skin of her palm. Jughead took notice of this and reflexively reached out to grab her hand, but pulled it back in an instant. He wasn’t close to her like that anymore, he can’t just grab a hold of her like he used to, he reminded himself.

 

The woman sitting in front of Jughead adjusted herself and stood up. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Betty. Why don’t you help Mr. Jones with his forms? There’s a folder for new hires in the third drawer of my desk.” 

 

Jughead began to thank her, but Elaine waved it away and left without a “you’re welcome”. “What’s going on out there? Do you think she’s going to need back up?” He began to stand up when Betty gently pushed his shoulder back down. 

 

“Juggie, there’s nothing happening out there.” When she said this, a devilish grin spread across her face. “You deserve this.” That smile of Betty’s had put a spell on Jughead the very first time he saw it and it still had the same effect on him. 

 

He opened her palm up with his fingers and looked from it to her face. “You just lied to your boss for me- which clearly you haven’t done much before. Betts, I don’t want you to have to stress yourself out over me. Whatever happens, I can take care of myself, okay?” He closed her palm and held it for a second. “But thanks. You sure you want me around here? This is your turf.”

 

Betty nodded enthusiastically despite the doubt in the back of her mind. Jughead was the only person who had come to know Betty’s beast within in such an intimate way. She wasn’t sure if working with him would cause them to eventually rift apart or if it would provide an opportunity for them to get close that in the future would ruin whatever bit of friendship they had going. In the end, she decided she couldn’t let her feelings get in the way of Jughead’s career.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they’d finished all the paperwork and Jughead was officially an employee at the Herald. 

 

Even though he was grateful that he was given the opportunity to work at the Herald, he was still tossing in his sleep over whether he should keep the job by the time ten p.m. hit. He let out a sigh and clicked the power button on the top of his phone. 

 

J: Hey B, do you still go?

 

The text went off with a whooshing noise and it filled him with immediate regret. He shouldn’t be texting her, he shouldn’t be asking her personal questions. It wasn’t his business anymore. Her hands weren’t his business anymore. Her eyes weren’t his business anymore. The soft fabric pulling at her waist… wasn’t his business anymore. Did that make it wrong to think about them, though? 

 

Just as he was about to toss his phone to the side of the bed, he heard a ding! in response. 

 

B: No. Hard to pay for as a secretary.. 

 

Now he felt like an asshole for asking. Then again, it could only go downhill now so he might as well keep the ball rolling.

 

J: When did you stop going? When we… when you left that summer, 

 

He held down on the erase button and started over. This didn’t have to be awkward. This didn’t have to end with them talking about what happened. He tried again.

 

J: So you got better?

 

B: I guess so. I don’t know. Sometimes you don’t have the luxury of waiting for the healing to end before you move on.   
B: Why are you suddenly curious?

 

That was an answer Jughead Jones wasn’t ready to expose. Not yet.

 

J: I was just wondering. Thanks, by the way, for the help today. 

 

This time there was a longer pause between his text and her response. 

 

B: I’m still here for you. It’s just different. But my home is your home. That’s never changed, Jughead.

 

Months before the end of their junior year, Jughead was living in the basement of the Coopers. At first, he started out on an air mattress that he’d picked up at the local Dick’s store. Then he gradually migrated to the couch, and eventually he’d found himself holding Betty on her queen-sized mattress, the smell of her hair and the tenderness of her skin enveloping all of his senses. 

 

Memories like polaroid snapshots flooded Jughead’s mind. 

 

The pastel pink of her bedsheets and the matching sheer white curtains. It felt very innocent and young. Then there was the daybed. The memories he had of that were not nearly as innocent. The vanity mirror of her dresser that was covered in photographs of people that were important to her. He had always wanted to be one of them. 

 

At some point while he was living there, Betty had taped up a photo of the two of them onto her mirror. He wondered if it still hung there. Probably not.


	3. Souvenirs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient waiting for the latest update, hopefully it's not complete trash. I really appreciate that you guys take time out of your day to read my dabbles.

New York had not gone as planned for Jughead. When Veronica left to go to Columbia, Jughead bought a plane ticket last minute and flew with her. He’d been accepted into NYU and hadn’t really thought much of enrolling until Veronica convinced him that New York could provide him with opportunities for his writing that he couldn’t get anywhere else. There were agents there, big publishers that could give his career a kickstart. 

NYU offered Jughead a scholarship, so the burden of student loans wasn’t as heavy on his shoulders when he moved away from Riverdale. However, he didn’t have any housing plans set up when he arrived in the city and found himself couch surfing for several months. 

Jughead ended up working for a man who paid him to do odd jobs all over the city for a decent pay. Five months into living in New York, he had saved up enough money for a hole-in-the-wall apartment. 

It was a one bedroom mess with rotted carpeting and walls that were falling apart. The ceiling dripped constantly and occasionally he’d wake up and find his floor covered in white dusty material that had fallen from the ceiling. It wasn’t what you’d call a dreamboat, but it had walls and a bed. 

As it turned out, Jughead wasn’t exactly a model student. Most of his time was spent working to ensure he had enough money to pay for rent and food. When he wasn’t doing that, he was pleading with editors to take a look at his novel. _"I know it’s just a rough draft, but please, give it a chance."_

Finals week rolled around and he barely slept three hours a night. He lost his job after he arrived late for the second time in a week because he’d stayed up all night trying to study the material he hadn’t learned in the first place. 

By then, he had been in New York for a little less than a year and he still hadn’t found anyone willing to take a look at his manuscript. 

There were times- lots of them- that Jughead wanted to give in. He wanted to call Betty and tell her everything that had happened to him. Tell her he had made a huge mistake coming to New York and that he missed her with his entire being. And that he would give everything for her to just run away with him. But she’d already run away. Without him. 

Moving back to Riverdale was humiliating for Jughead. It meant that he had failed. He was a failed author, a failed adult, and although he had passed his finals at NYU, he did so by the smallest margin. 

Apartments in Riverdale were far cheaper than New York’s standard prices, but that didn’t mean monthly rent didn’t still completely empty out Jughead’s pockets and his bank account. He ate only once a day, some days not at all, and his meals generally consisted of the same thing- a tortilla shell with shredded cheese and a side of rice. Occasionally he had a McDonald's burger when times were good. It was an adequate amount to keep him alive, but not to keep him happy.

The place he rented now was less of an eyesore, but the electricity went out frequently and the location wasn’t too desirable. If Jughead had one thing going for him, it was that he was a fast learner and quickly figured out his way around the neighborhood. Avoid the paranoid woman selling meth three doors down. Don’t answer the guy next door when he asks if you’ve seen his wife lately. The dog pacing around the corner is not a stray but definitely has rabies.

Jughead had assigned himself the task of cleaning his apartment to stay busy. He had to keep his mind at bay so that he wouldn’t spend the entire weekend overthinking the events from his job interview. Well, overthinking what had happened between he and Betty during his job interview. 

Reaching under his bed, he pulled out a book worn out from several readings with bright lettering on the front. When he ran his fingers over them, an electric shock was sent through his body. She had left this with him before she disappeared. The pages still smelled the same way they did when he first got it for her. 

They didn’t have it in any of the local bookstores, so he had had to special order it. He even paid rush shipping to make sure that it arrived in time for Betty’s birthday. It wasn’t much, but he’d heard her talk about Toni Morrison countless times before and this was the only book of hers that Betty didn’t already have on her shelf. 

Betty lounged on her daybed, engrossed in a book she’d already read three times before- God Help the Child. Each time she re-read it she found new things that fascinated her about it. Something about seeing Betty so passionate about the things she loved gave Jughead a sense of pride. _That’s my girl._

He’d made the mistake- well, he wouldn’t really call it that- of asking her what the book was about once. That was the night that he barely got any of his chemistry homework done while listening to Betty over the phone for hours, discussing the plot and her thoughts on what inspired Toni Morrison to write such a riveting story.  
She gripped the top of the page and rubbed it between her index finger and her thumb, eager to discover what happened next.

While she was distracted, Jughead slipped quietly from her bed and snuck up behind her. His arms wrapped around her torso and tickled the sensitive parts of her sides. Betty broke out into giggles.

“Damn it, Jughead, I was getting really into it!” She rolled her eyes. Her palm guided Jughead’s lips to hers, which were upturned in a grin. 

The memory dissipated when he threw the book into a cardboard box marked with a large “B” in sharpie. Almost everything else under his bed was either food wrappers or letters from NYU, requesting he reply with a letter that stated whether he intended to enroll at NYU for his sophomore year. 

 

Betty was organizing her bookshelf when she noticed it: a piece of paper that was stuck in between two books had fluttered to the floor. It was a receipt from a bookstore with a note written on it. _“I know this isn’t the greatest present, but Alice wouldn’t let me rent a box of puppies to surprise you with so this was the next best thing. I love you. - J”_

Her instinct told her to crumple it, throw it away, never think about it again. But for some reason she couldn’t push herself to do it. Instead, she gently folded the note up and stuck it back in the bookshelf to find another day. 

Evidence of his mark on her life lingered everywhere. She opened the closet and found two pairs of shoes: one pair of light pink flats with golden jewels on them and a pair of weathered Doc Martens that she’d borrowed from him. They were huge on her, but they were also a last resort. 

She remembered the day she'd texted him asking him for a favor. He’d sauntered up to her, holding them with a smirk on his face. 

“They’re the smallest I have. They’re from, like, eighth grade.” He looked down at her feet and knew that despite the fact that these shoes were three years too small on him, they’d be at least two years too big on her. “The last time you wore my shoes was sixth grade-”

“Gym class, yeah, I remember,” she interjected.

Jughead saw her glance over at her destroyed flats. 

“What the hell did you do to these? Put them in a wood shredder? Jesus Christ, Betty.” He picked one of the pair up and dangled it between his thumb and his index finger, inspecting the ruins. The bottom had come completely off and the tip of the shoe had two large rips all the way through the material. 

“Uh, something like that. My neighbor’s dog got loose again and-”

“Are you hurt? I’ll kill that bastard if his mutt did anything to you,” Jughead growled. 

Betty blushed at the way that Jughead took on a protective nature over her in an instant, but quickly reassured him that she was fine. “It was just a little mishap. I’m the picture of health, promise. Thank you for the shoes. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.” 

She didn’t have a need for them for much longer because he’d gotten her a brand new pair of the same shoes for her birthday later that year. They were the fruit of his summer-long labor working under Archie’s dad. They still sat, looking barely worn, in her closet next to the broken Doc Martens. 

Betty thought about texting him, asking him if he wanted them back, but she doubted that he’d even thought about those shoes since the day he’d given them to her. Why would he? Besides, if she left them here… maybe he’d have a reason to come back. 

_Nope, no, no. I’m not going to think like that. I’ll just give them to Goodwill._

As she started to stuff the shoes in a plastic bag, something caught her eye that she hadn’t laid sight upon for a year or two. Her old journal. She’d stuffed it into the back of her closet so that she would never have to accidentally stumble upon her shame. But now she was here. Full of uncertainty and a little fear, she dug the journal out from a pile of old clothes and flipped a few pages in. 

_Entry 5: Today she asked me if I’d ever taken anything. I told her about the Adderall and how I stopped taking it without telling mom. I didn’t tell her about staying at Chuck's last night. I feel like she’s going to tell me that I’m making a rush decision and frankly I don’t need anyone trying to run my life more than mom already does._

Another one.

_Entry 27: I didn’t go today. I went with Polly to see Jason’s grave. Penelope threatened to do whatever she had to to keep Polly away from his burial site, but what is she going to do? Get a restraining order for her dead son against the girl he was supposed to have kids with? Polly almost found i t in my room but I got out of the shower just in time to stop her. I am trying so hard to front for her and for the twins, but it’s almost impossible when the walls are so thin and my internal walls are toppled over._

Betty hated reading this, hated remembering what this felt like and thinking about how she used to be, but she couldn’t stop. 

_Entry 41: Polly finally found it. I didn’t know what to tell her. Nancy keeps calling me, asking when I’m going to come see her again. I can’t find the courage to tell her that it’s useless now, that I’m useless now. Polly said she doesn’t want the twins to see it and that if she had to she’d tell mom. She’s never gone against me like this._

She was about to slam the cover shut when she ran across Jughead’s name again.

_Entry 47: Jughead spotted the marks around my wrist today and wouldn’t give in until I told him. So I told him everything._

Her right hand wrapped around her other wrist. The bruises were gone now, but the feeling hadn’t faded. Tears beaded in her eyes, remembering how it felt to finally tell someone about it. Jughead had been so understanding. He held her for hours after she confessed about it. 

And she repaid him by stranding him and running away.


End file.
